


One Mistake

by CynicalLion



Series: Daddy's Little Siren Side Stories [1]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Beating, Blood and Injury, Boot Worship, Cock & Ball Torture, Crying, Electrocution, Eye Trauma, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Imprisonment, Jack gets turned on alot but there's no sex, Light Wound Fucking, Murder, Mutilation, No explicit sex anyway, Non-Explicit Sex, Psychological Torture, Punishment, Sadism, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29260281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynicalLion/pseuds/CynicalLion
Summary: Timothy Lawrence makes a terrible mistake and tries to assassinate Handsome Jack. Despite the betrayal, Jack decides to give his favorite body-double a second chance.Also: The beginning of the story that tells the reason why Timothy is so messed up in Daddy's Little Siren.
Series: Daddy's Little Siren Side Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124564
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	One Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> Like, seriously. If you're not okay with torture, you shouldn't read this. Timothy's gonna get fucked up.

It had been a few months after the incident in the Vault on Elpis. Since then, Jack, now Handsome Jack, had grown increasingly unstable. Timothy, though he disagreed with alot of what Jack had done to get into the Vault and even moreso the things he'd done to take Hyperion once that was over, had stayed with Jack and had been front and center to witness his decline. Jack had always been unstable, sure, but now he'd officially murdered more people than Timothy was comfortable keeping track of, enjoyed every single one of those murders, and had even forced Timothy to help with more than he could ever hope to make up for.

Needless to say, Timothy was at his wit's end. He couldn't ditch Jack and run, as much as he wanted to, and he really, _really_ wanted to, because Hyperion was all he had; Jack had made sure of that. Also, Jack would probably just hunt him down anyway. He couldn't kill Jack, even putting Hyperion being all he had aside, because he wasn't his only bodyguard and the others would find out. Timothy couldn't even try to impersonate Jack long enough to get away; no one would buy it, he wasn't confident enough.

Timothy felt trapped and it was one night while he was wallowing in that feeling, sleep having alluded him for the third night in a row, that he got an Echo communication he wouldn't have ever expected. When the little device trilled, Timothy sighed raggedly and put it in his ear, expecting Handsome Jack. He hit the button to answer the call but didn't bother saying anything. It was nearly three in the morning, so whatever it was had to be urgent which likely meant Jack wouldn't wait for a greeting before he was yelling at Timothy to get his ass to _wherever_ to help him.

"Hey, Not-Jack."

It took Timothy a moment to realize that voice wasn't Jack's, which could've been due to surprise or sleep deprivation, but he eventually realized the voice was familiar and sat up slowly to stare pensively at his wall. "Lilith?" He practically whispered, fearing slightly that Jack would somehow hear him despite the fact that he was in his own apartment and despite knowing that the very thought was logically ridiculous. Three days without sleep didn't make for a very logical mind.

"I'll assume you're not being watched since you said my name." Lilith said, a bit of exasperation in her voice behind prevalent relief. "Look, I'm usually a pretty good judge of character, and you don't seem like a bad guy to me."

"Thank you?" Timothy responded, not entirely sure he wasn't hallucinating now. What a weird thing to just _say_. Or maybe he was just getting too used to Jack's back-handed compliments. Those had certainly grown more numerous since the Vault incident.

"You've noticed how Jack's getting worse, right?" Lilith asked, her voice as quiet as Timothy's, almost like she was risking something with this call as well.

"I-- yeah." Timothy said, sighing softly and getting up out of bed. "I mean, how could I not?"

"And you're not okay with what he's been doing, are you?"

"I'm sorry, what's the point of this?" Timothy asked, walking into the kitchen and getting a glass of water. "Cuz this is really feeling like the sort of conversation that's gonna get me killed." Lilith sighed and Timothy had to stomp down on a flare of panic as he recognized disappointment in her voice. She wasn't Jack. He didn't need to be afraid of her.

A hand suddenly wrapped around his shoulder and Timothy jumped, dropping his glass to the counter, where it miraculously only cracked. He spun around and the hand instantly moved from his shoulder to his mouth, Lilith's other hand moving to her lips in a _shhh_ motion. "Don't scream." She whispered, Timothy swallowing hard before nodding slowly. After a moment, Lilith removed her hand.

"What-what are you doing here?" Timothy hissed, looking around nervously before glaring halfheartedly at Lilith. "If Jack catches you in here, he'll kill us both. Or just me because you're a Siren and can just--"

Putting her hand over Timothy's mouth again, Lilith looked slightly annoyed. "I need your help." She said, removing her hand once again as Timothy's eyes widened in shock. "Me and the others, we have a plan, and it hinges on someone getting close enough to Jack to finally finish this. You're the only person any of us could think of who's close to Jack but still a good enough person to _want_ to stop him."

"I-- you want-- no." Timothy said quickly, moving past Lilith and quickly going back to his bedroom. "No, no, no. I know what you're implying and I can't. I just--" Suddenly Timothy was being spun around and pinned to a wall by a surprisingly strong hand on his shoulder. He swallowed again and didn't bother to mask his fear.

"Please, just hear me out." Lilith said desperately, loosening her grip a bit but still keeping Timothy against the wall. "If we don't stop Jack, more people are gonna die. **Alot** more people. You're the only one who can get close enough."

As fatigued as he was, it was hard to pretend he wasn't scared, so Timothy didn't bother, looking down at Lilith nervously as she spoke. "But I can't. I'm not an assassin, I barely managed to carry my own weight when I was with the Vault Hunters."

"But you **did** manage!" Lilith argued, letting Timothy go and watching with a slightly concerned frown as he simply slid down the wall and pulled his knees up to his chest. Sighing lightly, Lilith crouched in front of him and placed her hand on his shoulder gently. "Look, if you can just be the one to pull the trigger, I _promise_ me and the others will be there to help you through the fallout. You're a good guy, Timothy. You don't deserve to be trapped under that psycho's thumb." Timothy didn't respond and Lilith got the feeling that he wouldn't. "You'd be helping to save Pandora. Maybe the whole galaxy." She paused then, gently squeezing Timothy's shoulder and sighing again when he didn't look up. "Just-- think it over, okay? I believe in you." With that, Lilith stood and took a few steps back before activating her powers and leaving through a glowing portal.

Once he was alone, Timothy buried his face in his arms and finally managed to fall asleep while silently stressing out over this new development.

A few extremely stressful days later, a perfect opportunity presented itself to Timothy. He was alone with Handsome Jack in his office. It was late, most everyone had gone home for the evening. Jack was pouring over some new plan, his guard was down, it was the perfect chance. Maybe the only one he'd get. Timothy still didn't think he was the right person for this. He didn't think he could do it, but-- god, but he wanted to _try_. He **hated** Jack, hated what he was becoming, hated what he was trying to turn him into, hated what he was _succeeding_ in turning him into. Freedom was such a sweet temptation.

Taking a breath, Timothy made his decision. In one swift movement, he stood, drew his gun, and took aim. Jack took notice, of course, he was a perceptive man, and when he realized Timothy had his gun drawn, his face darkened and he straightened up from his hunched position slowly. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Tim?" Jack asked calmly, face hard and stance tense even as his voice came out even.

Timothy realized far too late that he should've pulled the trigger the moment he had the shot, because now he was shaking. "I-I have to do this." He whispered, hand trembling terribly, "You have to be stopped, Jack."

After a moment of studying Timothy's face, Jack relaxed, loosening his stance and tilting his head slightly. "Do it, then. Betray me like everyone else." He said, calm and cold and _certain_. Jack knew what it felt like to stare down the barrel of a gun when that gun was primed to kill, and this wasn't that. Timothy wouldn't pull the trigger and when he didn't, there was going to be hell to pay for this little slip.

As if he could read Jack's mind, Timothy realized the same thing. He couldn't do this. He'd meant it when he said he'd barely pulled his weight with the Vault Hunters. He'd summoned his Digi-Jacks whenever things had gotten hairy back on Elpis and fired his gun a few times to look good, but he'd only actually shot anyone a handful of times, all accidents, and killed only one person, also an accident. He'd puked afterwards the moment he was alone and he'd had nightmares about it for a week after the fact. He couldn't do this and it wasn't like he could summon his Digis to do it for him, they'd never fire at their creator.

Having been crying without realizing it, Timothy let out a light sob and realized he only had one option if freedom was really so tempting. Finally putting his finger on the trigger, Timothy turned his gun on himself but a searing pain kept him from pulling the trigger. He cried out and dropped his gun as one of Jack's wrist lasers grazed his hand and before he could realize what had happened and get his gun back, Jack was already over the desk, kicking it out of reach and punching Timothy hard enough to put him flat on his ass.

"You're gonna regret this, kitten." Jack hissed, kicking Timothy hard in the ribs and sneering when he shouted in pain and curled in on himself. "You and whoever the hell put you up to this." When Timothy uncurled enough to reveal his face, Jack kicked him in it, knocking him out instantly.

When Timothy woke up next, the first thing he registered was pain. Weirdly enough, it was in his arms first and foremost. Groaning, Timothy tried to move only to find that even the slightest attempt made his sore arms scream in protest. The pain brought him further out of the fog of unconsciousness and he opened his eyes slowly, hissing when he was greeted by blinding white lights. Once his eyes adjusted, Timothy saw white walls. He looked up, blinking and squinting past the harsh lights on the ceiling to find his wrists trapped by metal cuffs linked to a chain suspended from a hook.

Starting to hyperventilate as he remembered quickly what he'd done to end up in this situation, Timothy tried to move again only for the other injuries in his body to start making themselves known again. He had a headache with the focal point being his clogged nose, his arms were well and truly _killing_ him as though he'd been lifting weights for hours, and it hurt to breathe even as shallowly as he was getting his breaths in. Looking down when his attempts to move despite the pain only resulted in him swaying a bit, Timothy realized he was dangling off the ground and he let out a desperate, panicked sound when he spotted the drain in the floor.

"Oh, goody, you're awake." Jack purred from behind Timothy, his voice laced with a venom that Timothy had only heard on a handful of occasions. When Jack ran his fingers along Timothy's bruised ribs, he hissed and tried to get away. The desired effect came when he realized he'd felt Jack's fingers against his skin and looked down with wide, terrified eyes, clearly only _just_ realizing he was naked. Chuckling darkly, Jack flicked his wrist, effortlessly extending the metal baton he'd brought with him. The noise it made drew Timothy's eyes and he whimpered pathetically when he spotted it, breaking out into full-body trembles when Jack pressed a button on the handle and the baton crackled with electricity.

"So, here's what's gonna happen, TimTam." Jack said, swishing the baton a bit before waving it playfully in front of Timothy's face. "You're gonna tell me who put the idea of betraying me into your stupid little head, because I think we both know you're too much of a chicken-shit to have come up with it on your own, and _maybe_ you'll get to leave this room in one piece." Before Timothy could respond, Jack gently tapped his thigh with the baton, grinning sadistically when Timothy yelped and his leg jerked. "How's that sound?"

Managing a weak, panicked laugh, Timothy shook his head. "Fuck you, Jack." He breathed, taking in a shuddering breath when Jack's face darkened instantly. As afraid as he was, and as bad as he knew Jack was going to hurt him, Timothy wanted to be strong. Just this once he wanted to stand up for himself and not bow to Jack's will. He wasn't sure where the-- resolve?, bravery?, stupidity? had come from, but he was going to cling onto it with all his might.

"Language." Jack snarled, rearing his arm back and striking Timothy across the chest with the baton. On the back swing, he got Timothy in the ribs and then went lower to crack him in the knee-cap. For every strike, Timothy screamed and when Jack hit him in the stomach with the baton, he started to sob. The sound calmed Jack's temper somewhat and he clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment. "Y'know, Timmy, I really expected more from you. More common sense if nothing else."

Moving around Timothy, Jack cracked him across the back, across the hip, and across the tops of his thighs in quick succession. He waited a moment for Timothy's sobs to die down a bit before he continued speaking, "I mean, betraying me? Trying to **shoot** me? In my own office?" Laughing harshly, Jack cracked Timothy across the lower back and then across both asscheeks at once. "What was your end goal? Even if I would've died, which I wouldn't have, where do you think you were gonna go?"

Coming back around to Timothy's front, Jack arched an eyebrow at his doppelganger. "Well?" He huffed, putting his free hand on his hip and tapping his foot when Timothy was quiet for too long.

Though he was trembling hard and sobbing and could barely pull in enough breath to stay conscious, Timothy managed to glare weakly at Jack. "I'm not-- telling you-- anything." He bit out between trembling sobs and shaky breaths, choking on his breath and letting out a hoarse scream of pain when his stubbornness earned him a firm press under his balls from the baton.

"I am surprised that you suddenly grew a pair, though. Even if I did just fry them." Jack mentioned once he'd removed the baton, laughing a bit at his own joke and swishing the baton around a bit as he regarded the bruised man before him. "The Timothy from a few months ago would've cracked right away." Cracking a grin, Jack hit Timothy across the jaw with the baton, carefully pulling the swing so he didn't break it. "Kudos to me, I guess. Keeping you by my side really let some of my awesome rub off on you."

Unable to voice the opinion he had for anything about Jack rubbing off on him, Timothy simply hung there, panting and crying and hoping that his resolve would hold until Jack got tired of waiting for him to crack and killed him. It couldn't take that long, could it? Jack was an impatient man, after all. Surely he didn't have the patience to draw this out for very long, especially if Timothy lost the energy to be so responsive. God, he hoped he was right.

A sharp, electric prod to Timothy's bruised ribs brought him out of his silent hoping with a yelp and he looked at Jack with his teary eyes. "Weren't trying to disassociate on me there, were you, Timmy?" Jack asked, cocking his head slightly at Timothy but not giving him a chance to reply before he was carrying on. "Cuz that'd be awful rude all things considered." He hummed as he walked back around Timothy and hit both of his aching shoulder blades in quick succession.

Somehow finding a fresh well of energy, Timothy screamed, pain and electricity arching up his terribly sore arms and making his vision white out for a moment. It hurt so bad his ears were ringing and suddenly Timothy was babbling, his resolve so thin now, almost broken. "I'm sorry! Please, I'm sorry! Jack, please, it won't happen again! I'll be--" His voice cracked, a sob wracking his body so hard he swayed a bit, "I'll be good, I swear! I'm sorry!"

"See, I don't think you _are_ sorry, TimTam." Jack replied calmly, moving over to some monitors to make sure Timothy wasn't too close to passing out. He'd come dangerously close for a second there, but he'd managed to somehow pull himself back from the edge, the little trooper. Smiling to himself, Jack walked back over but stayed behind Timothy. "If you were _really_ sorry, you'd give up the **traitor** \--" The harsh word was punctuated by a harsh lash of the electric baton against his back, making Timothy jerk in his restraints and cry out, "--that got it in your head that **I'm** somehow the one that needs to be stopped in all this."

"I can't!" Timothy cried, gasping when there was a soft click behind him and his feet suddenly touched the cold floor underneath him. The moment his weight was no longer being supported by his aching arms, Timothy collapsed, whimpering as his knees hit the hard floor, the chain holding him pulling taught once again and depriving his arms any relief once he was down fully. "Please, I can't tell you who." He sniffled, head hanging and body trembling as he clung desperately to the frayed and snapping rope that was his resolve.

"Sure you can, Timmy." Jack said softly, almost soothingly, back in front of Timothy now. "And you will. _Reeeal_ soon." He then reached down with the baton, which he'd turned off, and forced Timothy to look up at him, reveling in the way Timothy flinched when the baton came into contact with the soft area under his chin. "I _will_ give you one thing, you're making me awful curious about who could really be worth all this." Jack informed calmly, motioning at Timothy's slumped, shivering, bruised body with his free hand.

Jack crouched in front of Timothy, keeping the baton under his chin to keep his head up as he kept talking. "Especially since you _know_ choosing them over me is really spitting in the face of all the shit I've done for you." He said, shifting to the side a bit and wrapping an arm around Timothy's head as he removed the baton. "The least of which," He started, reaching around Timothy's head to pry his green eye open and keep it open, "was letting you keep _this_ even after mine was destroyed."

"No." Timothy whispered, his full-body trembles increasing as he realized what Jack was doing.

Unable to stifle it despite his lingering anger, Jack grinned broadly and held the tip of the baton in front of Timothy's wide, tear-filled eye. "I think I'll just rescind **that** particular kindness." He practically purred, driving the baton forward as Timothy tried to twist away weakly and turning it on once he hit bone. Timothy's screams went up in pitch and Jack drank it in like he could sustain himself off the sound. Just as the monitors on the other side of the room warned Jack that Timothy was going to black out, Jack removed the baton and got up to push a button that would give his body-double a shot of adrenaline through his cuffs.

Coming back over once Timothy came back from the edge again, Jack took Timothy's chin in his hand and admired the way the burned skin around his eye seemed to ooze blood as his heartbeat picked back up. "That was your own fault, TimTam. We could've avoided that if you weren't so hellbent on protecting the **scum** \--" Jack paused to press his thumb into the burned socket and let Timothy's fresh screams die down a bit before he continued, "--that put you up to trying to assassinate me." Chuckling darkly, Jack rotated his thumb slowly, feeling around the edges of Timothy's eye socket, before pulling it out and pushing it back in just as slowly.

"Y'know, all that screaming and crying you've been doing is getting me pretty excited, Timmy." He purred, grinning more when Timothy's good eye, wide in horror, snapped to him. "Eye sockets aren't all that deep, especially not for what I'm working with, but I bet just thinkin' of how bad it'll hurt you will be enough to make up the difference." Pulling his thumb free, Jack straightened up, but before he could go for his belt buckle, Timothy croaked something past his cracked throat.

Tilting his head slightly, Jack gripped his doppelganger under the jaw and forced him to look up. "What was that, Tim?"

"Lilith." Timothy croaked again, barely getting the word out past the sobs steadily wracking his body.

"That little bitch." Jack whispered, yanking his hand back and slapping Timothy as hard as he could. "You seriously went through all this to protect **her!?** Someone I'm already gonna kill!?" He shouted, kicking Timothy hard right between his spread legs and snarling when he didn't feel any satisfaction as Timothy found the strength to scream. "Oh, you screwed up, baby. You screwed up _baaad_." Jack breathed, using his clean hand to push his disheveled hair back. "I was just gonna go after the Vault Hunters and that _bitch_ Moxxi, but now--" He laughed, low and menacing, shaking his head, "--now I want you to think about that. How what's gonna happen could've been avoided if it weren't for you."

With that final threat, Jack left, leaving Timothy to hang there, broken and in pain for a few hours before sending someone in to drag him away and get him patched up enough that he didn't die of shock or infection. Once Timothy was stable enough, physically, anyway, he was put into a small room with padded walls and nothing else except the door with a slat in the middle and at the bottom. When the door closed, all the noise of the outside world was muffled, which quickly turned to silenced once the sound of retreating footsteps got too far away, and everything was dark, only a tiny sliver of light coming from the slat at the bottom of the door illuminating the room enough that if Timothy squinted, he could tell how tiny it was.

There wasn't enough room to stand or even to lie down flat. There was only enough room to sit or curl up and really, at the moment, Timothy didn't mind that. He laid on his side, his arms close to his chest and still throbbing with pain, and curled up to cry until he was out of tears. Then he just laid there, trying to tell himself that trying to be strong was worth it even though he'd failed and not believing a word of it. Eventually even that became too much and Timothy finally fell asleep.

An indeterminable amount of time later, Timothy was woken up by the slat at the bottom of the door opening. He briefly entertained the idea of sitting up, but chose instead to keep laying there as a grey block on a styrofoam plate and a styrofoam cup were pushed into his cell and the slat closed promptly after. After another stretch of time, Timothy's stomach began to growl and he flexed his arms slightly to see how they were fairing. Despite the fact that he hadn't been given any pain killers, the ache in his arms had died to a dull roar instead of being crippling so he reached out and pulled the plate closer.

Upon poking at the block, Timothy found it was gelatinous but solid and his stomach lurched at the texture. Then it growled again, giving Timothy mixed signals and making him sigh as he sat up slowly. He knew what this was. Prison rations. Nutritionally balanced enough to keep him alive but as flavorless and unpleasant as possible. Closing his remaining eye, his charred eye-socket having been covered by gauze earlier, Timothy weighed his options and decided starving to death wouldn't be the way he went after enduring what he had. He at least deserved a quicker death than that, his stupidly misplaced resolve to defy Jack had earned him at least that much.

Taking the bar, Timothy ate it as quickly as he could and then carefully nursed the water in the cup. His throat was destroyed from screaming and the water hurt a little despite being lukewarm but he knew he needed it. Dehydration wasn't going to be the way he'd go either even if it would be faster than starvation. At this point, he was hoping to get shot in the head, but he supposed getting strangled or airlocked would be fine too so long as he died quick.

Setting the cup on the plate once he was done, Timothy pushed both close to the slat and laid back down, finding sleep a little easier now that he had something in his stomach and now that his injuries had been given some time to settle. Another indeterminable amount of time later and Timothy was woken up again, this time by the door opening. Before he could blink past the harsh light from the hall outside his prison, he was being hauled up by his sore arm and hissed in pain.

"On your feet." The guard growled, clearly unsympathetic to the pain they were putting him in. "This is the only restroom break you're gonna get for awhile and if you don't walk, you don't go."

Even with as much pain as he was in, Timothy didn't like the idea of having to go in his cell and sleep with it, so he muscled through and got to his feet. Perhaps one of the only good things about the body-double program was that it had cured him of his shyness about his body. When you were going through incredibly invasive surgeries constantly with impatient at best doctors, clothing was rarely an option so Timothy had gotten used to being marched around naked.

"You have five minutes." The guard informed, shoving Timothy into a small room with only a toilet and a sink in it. They closed the door and Timothy heard it click locked.

Sighing softly, Timothy took care of his business rather quickly, luckily only needing to pee, and then took a moment to wash up in the sink. Now that he had light, he could see the bruises on the parts of his body that Jack had beat with the baton. He almost wished he had a mirror so he could see what his eye looked like, but removing the bandage seemed like a bad idea, so it was probably better that he didn't have the temptation. Moving slowly, Timothy stretched his arms out, sighing sadly at how badly they still hurt. He could ignore all his bruises, except his ribs, they also hurt quite alot, but his arms were really, truly killing him. He supposed it made sense since they'd been holding up his entire weight for no telling how long, but still.

Using all the time he had to stretch as much as his body would allow, Timothy felt unfortunately awake by the time the door opened and the guard yanked him out of the bathroom. He was unceremoniously crammed back into his cell and then the world went black again, causing Timothy to sigh softly. How long was Jack planning to keep him here before finally killing him?

Assuming his feedings were daily: two weeks. Two entire weeks of darkness and quiet only broken up by his food deliveries and bathroom breaks. A change in the monotony finally came when one day Timothy was taken past his cell after a bathroom break. As he was marched further down the dim hall to a room at the end, Timothy couldn't help but hope that it was finally time for his execution. At this point, even if this wasn't his execution, anything was better than spending another minute in his cell.

The guard opened the door at the end of the hall and shoved Timothy inside, immediately man-handling him into a chair and strapping him in. From what Timothy could see as his head was strapped into place, his arms and legs already having been expertly tied down, the only piece of furniture in the whole room was the chair. Once his head was held in place, the warden slipped a little plastic ring into his remaining eye, the function of it becoming clear as Timothy tried to blink away the discomfort it caused and found his eyelids were being held open.

Before Timothy could even think to risk asking what was happening, the guard was leaving and a panel in the wall across from the chair was opening up. Timothy had first thought he was strapped to an electric chair but now, especially with the contraption keeping him from blinking, he figured he was about to face an automated firing squad. Well, it was about-- a monitor came out of the hole in the wall revealed by the panel and it flickered a bit before clearing up into a picture Timothy didn't recognize.

Caught between confused and disappointed, Timothy frowned at the screen, unable to do anything but look at the town being displayed to him from above. He could tell it was Pandora just from the ramshackle, dusty look of the town, but it was impossible to tell anything more than that from so high up. The shot slowly zoomed in, though, and it revealed people. Timothy felt a knot of dread start to twist in his stomach as he realized they were actual people, not the twisted bandits Pandora was known for.

The shot moved slowly, giving Timothy a sweeping view of what looked like the busiest part of the town. There were people bartering at stalls, chatting with eachother on doorsteps, children playing. It looked surprisingly nice, almost civil even. The knot in Timothy's stomach wound tighter and his feeling of dread intensified as the camera stopped its slow pan on a group of children playing hopscotch.

"New Haven." Jack's voice suddenly came from two speakers in the corners of the room, loud but not uncomfortably so even in the quiet room. "The largest bandit settlement on Pandora." The children on the screen got into what appeared to be a small squabble over their game, unaware of the danger looming above them. "A town that I might've spared, might've tried converting when the time came, but that will now instead be burned to the ground." Timothy felt the knot in his stomach drop as the first few gunshots and screams rang out. "Because of you, TimTam."

"No." Timothy whispered, the screen splitting into multiple aerial views of New Haven. Every corner was covered with the new views and Timothy witnessed carnage like he'd never seen before as Wilhelm, dozens of Hyperion troops, and Handsome Jack himself laid waste to the peaceful town. No one was spared as Timothy watched on in horror, sobs wracking his weak body and tears streaming from his eye.

The tears didn't stop Timothy from seeing it when Jack looked right at one of the drones capturing the carnage and shot a family, saving the children for after the parents had been killed. They didn't stop him from watching Jack blind a man who tried to fight back, laughing while he allowed him to bumble around blindly for a bit before killing him and his family. They didn't stop him from witnessing the first explosion, the first of many, that quickly turned the town-turned-slaughterhouse into nothing but a smoldering wreckage.

Timothy felt sick, but he had nothing to throw up, his last feeding having been far enough away that his body had already used up the nutrition bar to keep itself running. The screams of New Haven were still echoing in his mind even as the room had gone mostly quiet again once the explosions had died down. Now there was just the sound of fire consuming what was left of New Haven, the drones still hovering dutifully over the burning city and making sure Timothy saw every second.

Even as hard as he was trying, Timothy couldn't convince himself that Jack would've done that no matter what. That was a whole town of most-likely at least mostly sane people that Jack could've convinced to work for him and he hadn't even _tried_ talking to them. Timothy tried to tell himself he'd tried before, sometime during the past two weeks perhaps, but Timothy had been with Jack when he'd gone to talk to a town several times. Or, more precisely, he'd **been** Jack going to talk to a town several times. The point was, Jack, whoever that was in the moment, always came armed to the teeth and ready to destroy everyone and everything if the town resisted.

New Haven really hadn't even been given a chance and it was Timothy's fault. It was his fault because he'd tried to fight Jack, to be strong.

The door to the room suddenly banged against the wall as it was opened and Timothy flinched hard, choking on his tears as he gasped in surprise. The guard came up to him and went right for his eye, but there was another set of footsteps. Lighter and slower, confident and unmistakable. The ring was removed and Timothy blinked away the strained feeling as well as his tears, his head getting released next before the guard left. The door closed with an ominously soft _click_ and Timothy was left in the room with Handsome Jack.

"I see you enjoyed the show, Timmy." Jack said, grinning wickedly and going over to the monitor to turn it off. It slowly retreated back into the wall and the panel slid back in front of the hole. When Timothy didn't say anything, Jack turned back to him and roughly gripped his jaw with his bloody hand, a pleasant expression on his face. "I can also see you kept in mind that it was all your fault." He hissed darkly, his eyes glinting in sadistic joy as Timothy flinched and refused to meet his eyes.

Jack had clearly come straight from the massacre. He was bloody from head to foot, bits of his clothes scorched, likely from gunfire or explosions, and the tremble of adrenaline still lingering in the hand he had on Timothy's jaw. And god did he _smell_. He smelled like gunpowder and blood and sweat and _death_ and Timothy felt sick. When Jack released his jaw and Timothy felt the cold air hit his skin in the absence of Jack's grip, he could tell he was wet and he knew what was there wetting him.

As Timothy sobbed and retched weakly, Jack let out a cruel chuckle and went about unstrapping his doppelganger. Once the last restraint left Timothy, Jack grabbed him by his hair and forced him onto the floor. Timothy fell from the chair easily, landing on his hands and knees and somehow managing to stay upright despite his trembling. The retching had died down at least. Eventually Timothy managed to push himself up and back, sitting down heavily on the floor and trying not to look at Jack's blood-stained sneakers.

"You finally done being a weak little bitch, TimTam?" Jack asked pleasantly, grinning when Timothy nodded slowly. "Good. Pay attention, then." He commanded, folding his arms over his chest and tapping his right foot a bit. "I'm about to give you a choice that I don't really think you deserve, all things considered. The _only_ reason you're getting it is because it's gonna be fun as hell for me no matter what you end up choosing. You got that, kitten?" Timothy nodded again and Jack clicked his tongue, pressing the foot he'd been tapping to Timothy's chest and pinning him to the floor with it when the slight pressure was enough to tip him over. "Words, Tim."

"Yes, sir." Timothy whispered, his glassy eye far away as he stared at the ceiling. Jack grinned. He wouldn't be blanking him for long.

"Atta boy." Jack praised cruelly, removing his foot and crouching beside Timothy. "Now, you can either snap out of it and put your good-for-nothing, traitor mouth to work cleaning off my shoes," Timothy's eye cleared up in an instant and snapped to Jack, wide and horrified, " _ooor_ ," Jack continued, grin sharp and unforgiving, "I can strap you back down and make you rewatch the New Haven massacre for the next twenty-four hours."

Mouth falling open as words failed him, Timothy gaped at Jack in horror. He couldn't-- he couldn't be serious! Could he? Surely even Jack couldn't be so cruel as to expect him to clean the blood of all those innocent people off his shoes! Surely-- but he looked serious. Timothy whimpered and covered his face. No, he looked _really_ serious. Even behind the cruel grin, Timothy could see it in his eyes and-- could he really watch all those people die again? He was already going to be reliving it in his nightmares for the rest of his life, he was sure of it. Actually _seeing_ it again-- god, no, that would be too much.

"Why?" Timothy choked out, removing his hands and somehow finding enough moisture in his body to be crying again as he managed to turn his gaze on Jack's pleased face. "Why don't you just kill me? I betrayed you."

"Aw, Timmy. It's cuz I like you." Jack cooed sweetly, cupping Timothy's face and barely holding back a laugh when Timothy flinched as though he'd been electrocuted. "You were always my favorite, s'why I kept you by my side. It's also why you're getting a second chance." He chuckled darkly when Timothy hiccupped on a sob and closed his eye tightly. "Now," Jack growled, voice suddenly angry and his nails biting into Timothy's cheek as he tightened his grip, "Daddy needs an answer. Choose how you're gonna spend your evening."

"I-I'll do it." Timothy muttered miserably, turning his face away when Jack released him. "I'll clean your shoes."

"Huh." Jack huffed in surprise, straightening up and watching as Timothy rolled onto his stomach before getting slowly to his hands and knees again. "I thought for sure you'd make me choose for you. Watching that bandit hellhole burn really fucked you up, huh?" Timothy simply hiccupped again and Jack was about to scold him, force him to answer, but then Timothy came forward without having to be told and dragged his tongue slowly across the toe of Jack's shoe. The words died on Jack's tongue and instead came out as a breath as he watched Timothy get to work.

The taste of blood immediately coated Timothy's tongue and he choked back a sob while his stomach flipped. He tried to trick himself, tell himself the blood taste was just from an injury and was unrelated to the rough feel of Jack's shoe on his tongue but everytime he got close, he'd hit something unexpected, like a piece of charred bone, and the illusion would break, forcing him to remember exactly where he was and what he was doing. Forcing him to remember _why_ he was being made to do this.

Finally having run out of tears, Timothy sobbed dryly and kept working, cleaning blood, dirt, and charred bits of no-telling-what from Jack's beat-up sneakers. He ran his tongue dutifully over the toe, in between the laces, along the sides, wishing with every broad stroke of his tongue that he could find the strength to try defying Jack again while simultaneously thanking no one in particular that he didn't. Timothy could only imagine what Jack would do to him, hell, what he'd do to Pandora, if he ever got another defiant streak and the thoughts made him shudder.

No. Timothy had been through enough. He'd _caused_ enough. No, now it was time for Timothy to behave and obey and hope, _pray_ that Jack lost interest in tormenting him and put a bullet in his head before all of this went much further. Just as he was almost finished with the first shoe, Timothy ran into a chunk of what he could only assume was person between Jack's laces and gagged. He jerked back and had to take a moment to dry heave before he could continue, but Jack was being surprisingly patient with him and didn't say anything. He even let out a distinctly pleased hum when Timothy kept going unprompted after he'd gotten himself under control and Timothy hated the zip of relief that shot up his spine at the sound.

Shortly after his dry-heaving fit, Timothy got the first sneaker as clean as he realistically could and switched to the other one. He repeated his motions from the first, tongue roaming flat over the toe, between the laces, across the sides. Timothy let out another dry sob as he realized the motion was almost calming in how methodical it was. God, he was sick. Sick and broken. Managing to finish the second shoe without gagging despite hitting two more chunks, Timothy backed away but stayed on his hands and knees, head bowed and body trembling.

"Wow." Jack breathed, making Timothy flinch with the naked arousal in his tone. "You took that like a champ, Tim. I'm actually super proud of you right now." He admitted, reaching down and forcing Timothy up onto just his knees with a firm grip under his chin. "You keep that up and you might actually manage to get back in my good graces."

Stuck firmly between feeling hope and feeling despair at that sentence, Timothy simply hiccupped on something too weak to even be a sob at that point and closed his eye so his heart would stop fluttering at the pleased look on Jack's face. Then his face was being pressed to Jack's crotch and, having seen, and now feeling against his cheek, the proof of how much Jack had enjoyed watching him clean his shoes, Timothy once again didn't need to be told what to do. At least this was familiar, almost enjoyable. _This_ he could lose himself in.

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, I know he's my Pre-Sequel main, but I friggin' hate Timothy Lawrence. He's a little bitch and I don't appreciate how he talks to Jack, so... fuck that bitch. I don't feel bad about this at all.


End file.
